


hotel california

by cockumentary



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spirits, California, Creepy, Everyone Is Gay, Ghosts, Haunting, Hotel California - Freeform, Hotel Sex, Hotels, Loneliness, Loser Jean, M/M, Marco Being Creepy, Marco Just Wants A Friend, POV First Person, POV Jean Kirstein, Past Lives, Possessive Behavior, Relationship(s), Songfic, Spirits, Supernatural Elements, Trapped, Travel, Weird Fluff, Weirdness, Work In Progress, Yandere, abandoned buildings, attack on titan - Freeform, jeanmarco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 21:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2748299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cockumentary/pseuds/cockumentary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean leaves it all behind in hopes to start again in the golden state, except things don't really go according to his original plan. He makes a quick pit stop, hoping to stay at a mysterious, dingy hotel for just one night, but ends up spending a lot more time than he anticipated there. In fact, all of his time. </p><p>It's in that very hotel where he encounters a bizarre group of individuals, all of which are dead, but are technically still living. Like the Breakfast Club, but for ghosts.</p><p>A lonely one becomes infatuated with him, and there's nothing he can do to stop it. He's got to face the music and convince himself that he can, in fact, love a spirit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hotel california

If you looked at me then, you would assume I was your average asshat with an absolutely butchered undercut who just wanted to get somewhere in his life. An asshat who wanted to live a little for once and see his life for what it truly was: nothing until he acted on his urges to up and out of his hometown.

I can assure you that all of those assumptions are one-hundred percent true. I was certainly an asshat at the time and I probably still am, but I never expected to get to the somewhere I ended up in. Forever.

Now I already know what you're going to say, because surprisingly I've told this bizarre story before. How the fuck did you get caught somewhere? Did your car break down? Did you become some beast of a man in the wild?

No.

It's nothing like that. It's actually relatively normal, the way in which I got stuck. The first part at least. From that point onward, the chain of events goes haywire.

No beasts are involved, except maybe the ones you can't really see unless you squint at the mirror and pay attention to what's behind you. No roofies are involved, and I'm not kidnapped or anything either in this story. Not technically, anyway.

But before I spoil too much, let me at least introduce how this whole damn thing happened before giving too much away. You're going to have a lot of questions, and I'll answer them all within good time.

It's nothing you'd see on the news, because there would be no one there to report it. Believe me or not, you have to believe in the things we can't totally see with our eyes if you want to enjoy what I'm about to tell you.

# ♦

I never expected to find a permanent home in California, home of the hipsters, because I was a native northerner. When thoughts of traveling west ever filled my mind, I almost instantly became tempted to grab myself a cup of ice cold water. But a wise man once told me variety was the spice of life, so I took his advice.

If I wanted to start anew, have a rebirth, and end my little quarter-life crisis, I'd have to brave myself for the vicious, dry heat. A pro of the situation was that I'd never have to shovel another snowflake again, and that was a real bonus in my eyes.

And so I left, for good. Literally for good.

My family, or lack of it, had no clue that I'd never be coming back. I'd never be there to celebrate another birthday or help put up the Christmas decorations. I have to admit, even though I wasn't a complete joy to be around, it was kind of unfair to the ones who really did have hearts that genuinely cared for me if only a little bit.

Then I remembered that I was a professional shitbag at nearly everything I did, and I questioned if anyone really would miss me. It didn't matter from my standpoint anymore, because my fate was set in stone and I'd never see them again. Tourist me didn't know that, though.

When I left, I never would have guessed that I'd run into someone who cared for me a lot, to the point where it was almost strange. He was someone who'd practically want to be your shadow he loved you so much, and the guy was definitely worth a second glance. He was just a misunderstood one.

I could elaborate on why, but I don't want to introduce you to him just yet.

Before you meet the little creep, I'll have to tell you about the chain of events that lead up to me meeting the most wacked group of people I'd ever meet in my life. The most ironic part about the situation was that I'd be stuck with them for good, thus making me a bit loony myself. What's even more ironic is that I didn't get entrapped in a mental asylum, yet I was surrounded by people who weren't all there inside their minds. 

There was nothing I could do to stop my ending, because I was thirsty as fuck on that highway as I watched the sun go down and the people start to bustle as night fell.

I needed a drink, and I didn't care if it was prune juice at this point. I was parched and desperate.

Sometimes noise was a little much for my sensitive brain, and this was a fact that I was pretty ashamed of telling people. I could feel a migraine coming on, and I knew I had to get somewhere comfortable where I could rest fast. It wouldn't be long before the dreadful auras (those are when you see stars for you lucky dumbos who don't know what a migraine is) started up.

I increased my speed on the ruby mo-ped I was renting out, and hoped that I wouldn't get pulled over or run out of gas and pathetically break down on the side of the road. Or even worse, take a wrong exit and end up having to ask some weirdo in a pickup truck for directions

Trying to be an optimist about the shitty situation, I attempted to push those thoughts out of my mind. I had asked the chick in front of the diner if there were any good inns or hotels around here, and she told me of one that I should head to - the only one she knew of.

It was a hotel that no one really knew about, yet this crackpot somehow knew the directions. I figured that she must have had connections with the people who owned it or something. Or maybe she was just being a prick, pulling a joke on a loser who wasn't familiar with the area.

Her honest brown eyes which were shielded by unnecessarily thick glasses told me to trust her, although her wild hair intimidated me a bit. It was reddish-auburn with streaks of an undercut in the back, just like me. Probably a fucking misfit just like the rest.

Shame I never learned more about this woman, because I'd grow to hate her within the next few hours. We'd never see each other again, so I'd never get to act on my fuming regret of taking advice from her. Lesson learned: don't listen to strangers, although it's a little too late for me to be worrying about them considering I'd never meet another again in my lifetime.

The woman I spoke to was probably just trying to be a good samaritan, but boy did she fail miserably. The place I was heading to was full of anything _but_ warm hearts.

So there unknowing me was, skimming through what had happened over the past few hours in my mind and deciding to make a strong-willed decision to head to this ambiguous hotel that I knew nearly nothing about. Smart idea.

According to her directions, I'd take the next exit and it would be right there on the left side. I wasn't exactly sure what to look for, but I knew the place when I saw it thanks to a salmon-colored neon light that read "Hotel California" out front. With a name like that, you'd think the place would be packed, but it was actually the complete opposite.

The bulb which was supposed to light the "H" in _Hotel_ was out, and that should have been an omen telling me to scram right then and there.

A few old cars occupied the little parking lot, but there was no sign of life whatsoever. No one heading back to their vehicles, keys and whatever luggage they may have had clutched in their hands. Not a soul outside smoking a cigarette either. It struck me as odd, and a rather strange feeling settled in the pit in my stomach.

Maybe it was because of my thirst. It had to be, because I didn't get omens. I wasn't some magical guy.

I always picked head over heart anyway, and in this case, it would be my head versus the strange feeling I had in my gut. My migraine was coming on full-force like some kind of freight train with full velocity, and I had to check in and get a room soon.

Little did I know that I'd never be able to check out. Dramatic but true.

I made my way over to the entrance and pushed open one of the double doors to meet a dim lobby with almost no one in it. I could already tell why no one wanted to come to this place, because it was just plain crummy. The curtains and walls were stained with old age, and this "Hotel California" reeked of must and desperation. Probably just like me in a sense.

Still, something about it intrigued me for some bizarre reason, and I knew there was no turning back now. I needed to piss like a racehorse, get a drink, and lie down in that exact order.

I couldn't tell if the guy at the desk was a bellhop or a butler or what. He just sort of looked like your average person who dealt with customers until he stood up to check me in. He was the tallest guy I'd seen in a while, and he looked like he could have been a damn basketball player instead of being cramped up in this joint.

Shaggy dark hair spilled over his head, bangs nearly going past his eyebrows. Dark eyes met mine as he asked me my name and the basics so he knew what to write down in the little book which rested on the desk. This dude almost appeared to be shy as he sort of stuttered in the beginning, but who am I to judge someone?

"Y-You sure you want to check in?" He asked, a very big hint of uncertainty in his voice. "It's not too late for you to find somewhere else that's not dingy, you know. Some of the rooms here are busy being... renovated."

"Didn't you just write my name down?" I gawked, and I was appalled at this dude. Why the hell would he try to drive me away from the place he worked at? It would be less cash flow for him in the long run, and everything about this guy was puzzling me right now. Including his worn name tag which read _Bertholdt-_

"Fine. Just making a suggestion..." He muttered. "Head to room seven and settle down. If you need anything, call for service."

"Alright, man. You should try to be a little less uptight if you don't want to scare people off, though." I said, half-smirking as I practically grabbed the golden key in his hand. If everything went according to plan, it would finally grant me access to comfort. Hopefully.

"..Jean? Do me a favor and promise me you'll be careful up there."

"Just so you know, some of the lights have been known to go out. It's something we've been working on repairing for a while."

Poor guy probably didn't want to cost his boss a couple grand if I fell somewhere and decided to file a lawsuit.

"Bertholdt, I get the idea. I heard you mention that the place was being renovated. Make me sign a waiver if you're that concerned about something bad happening. It's not like I'm walking into a haunted house, right?"

A brief moment of silence passed until he finally spoke up again.

"...Right."

After he was done warning me about the so-called renovations, I made my way up the dim staircase and was relieved to be on the second floor. It was a desolate area, just like the rest. I followed the rooms down the hallway until I finally came across the number seven, hung above the suite I was designated to be in.

It took me a minute to slide the key inside until I finally felt the doorknob loosen in my hand. The guy downstairs was right, because these doors were old and practically rotting. I pushed it open, and came face-to-face with the place that would be my new territory.

It was more of a breakfast and bed set-up, considering the queen-sized bed was the highlight of room seven as a whole. There was a small little bathroom which consisted of just a porcelain toilet, bathtub, and sink, but it was one of the most enclosed spaces I'd ever been in. The ceiling was small, and I could have sworn it was designed for an oompa loompa or an elf of some sort.

Thankfully, a mirror hung loosely on the wall above the sink, so I could check my appearance if the need arose.

One thing that caught my attention was that it had a fine crack running through the upper right corner. Broken mirrors usually signified bad luck, but I figured that was just a measly superstition that I shouldn't have bothered paying attention to. If it was enough for me to fix my hair properly, it was good enough for me. 

I planned on leaving tomorrow and heading toward my next destination: watching some of the concerts in the city to get my music fix. Hopefully my migraine would pass overnight and I wouldn't be stuck with one in the morning. Those things were worse than a hangovers when you woke up to find that you still had one, forcing you to either drink a shit ton of caffeine or chug ibuprofens.

The interesting thing about the situation was that younger me would be pissed to come to the realization that his plans would never happen. He'd never get to see the concerts and mingle with some of the California folk, except for the ones he would be surrounded by in the very near future. 

And you know damn well that people are quick to hop on their new surroundings, just as swiftly as American kids hop on foreign exchange students and bees get stuck to honey. New things are supposed to be exciting.

Typically, I would be thrilled about meeting some new friends or exposing myself to different surroundings, but I was forced to face something that I'd never dealt with in my life as I lay quietly in the rather spacious bed.

It was the kind of thing that made me question whether I was half-asleep and just dreaming, or whether I was actually losing it. I shouldn't really refer to this thing as an _it_ , because it was sort of human. It repeatedly ran its warm hands through my mussed hair, and I thought it was my mother trying to communicate with me through a dream.

I realized that I was far from dreaming when my eyes shot open and I saw him looming above me.

The room was dark and I couldn't make out all of the details about him, but he had these freckles which dusted his cheeks and dark, dark brown hair from what I could see. Hair that was neatly parted right down the middle with a few flyaway strands that stuck up on his head like alfalfa patches.

I was tempted to ask what the fuck this guy happened to be doing, touching my body in my sleep. I kind of ended up thanking myself for waking up, because God only knows what this creep could have been capable of doing if I let him go any further. Not that I'd mind because he was pretty damn attractive.

"You're awake, darling. I've been waiting for someone like you to come along." He sighed, and Jesus Christ his voice sounded like heaven to my ears. So soft, sweet, and sincere. Maybe this really was a dream and I could just go with it, like some kind of simulator.

"Why have you been waiting for me? Do I know you from somewhere?" I asked, sleep present in my voice as I stifled a yawn and stretched out a bit. I sat up on the bed to get a better look at him. There was a possibility we could have known each other from my many years of school, but I doubted it. The dude seemed pretty out there. He was dressed like a modern Edgar Allan Poe, for starters. Vintage and elegant. 

"I don't believe you do, but it doesn't matter. To answer your other question, I get lonely."

"The moment I saw you at the front desk checking in, I was interested. Bertholdt down there almost sent you away in fear of me corrupting another soul, but I think you'll do just fine." He giggled, and I was really starting to wonder about things. Whatever this was, it was almost as bad as taking morphine. The walls didn't close in on me, but he sure was.

"Tell me who you are, because nothing's making sense right now." I demanded.

"I'm Marco, and nothing has to make sense. Maybe you and me, but that's all."

"Man, you're fucking crazy. And I thought the freaky bellhop in the lobby was bad," A smirk spread across my face. "I want whatever you guys are on."

"Mm, he's quite the character. Nothing in comparison to me, though."

He spent the next moment peering into my eyes with his dark brown ones, and I could spot his freckled cheeks darkening by the second. I wondered why, because I wasn't coming onto him or trying to be a flirt. Just pointing out the obvious: he seemed like a crackpot, but the good kind that you could admire.

"I've waited so long for someone to set foot in here... waited for you, really." He smiled, resting a surprisingly warm hand on my bare thigh. That's when the situation became even bizarre than it already was. This guy was acting like he was my destiny or something, and it crept me out a bit. 

"Tell me what you want, because I'm not picking up what you're putting down. I'm still confused, and I need clarity." My eyes trailed down to his hand, up his sleeve, and then finally returned to his face.

"I want _you_ , silly!"

I was pinned to the bed, causing a loud spring of the mattress coils to echo through the room. Marco began slightly straddling my groin in a very promiscuous way, and my eyes instantly widened. There was no way I was going to get a hard-on from this total stranger.

...But then again, it wouldn't be the first time I got turned on my someone I didn't know. Stuff like that happened every day, even with random faces on the street. What puzzled me was the fact that this guy thought he had the right to-

Wait a sec. Was he _getting off_ on me?

Oh yeah, I noted that there was a gallant boner in his pants as I looked him over from top to bottom. I didn't want to admit that I was checking him out just yet, but who was I kidding? The guy was a real sight to be seen.

I noticed that he started to bite his bottom lip out of frustration as he ground himself onto me, hands practically groping my chest as the friction grew even greater between the two of us.

"W-Whoa. Wait, Marco." I nervously declared, one of my hands reaching for his in efforts for him to cool his jets, but it looked like that wasn't happening any time soon. 

"Just what the fuck is going on here? Do you even know my name? You sure you're not confusing me with someone else?" A sea of questions spilled from my mouth, and I tilted my head to get a better look at him as my amber eyes pierced through his. "I need a recap of this whole thing and why you're on top of me."

"Are you an idiot, Jean?" He retorted, hints of sarcasm in that velvety voice of his. Sassy and saucy.

"Of course I know your name. And it's not rocket science to figure out what I'm trying to do to you. No one's been in this room for years, and I need you. I need your touch, most of all..."

His voice almost came out like a _whine_ as he tried to explain his desperate situation to me.

Me being the sucker I was, I found it very hard to say no to his pleads.

"How old _are_ you, Marco?" I asked, wondering exactly how many years room seven had been empty for. Marco looked to be around my age, if not a few years older, but something about him just seemed antique. Like the way he spoke, and how something similar to a cravat adorned his neck.

"It's irrelevant. I'm a spirit, hence the reason why I don't age."

"So what you're saying is that you haven't gotten ass in years and you're taking your thirst out on me?" I was sort of angry and amused at the same time, and I was absolutely clueless as to how this Marco guy had such an effect on me.

"Perhaps... I guess so." His cheeks burned bright red.

Was it even possible to _do_ a ghost?

"Haven't you ever heard of masturbating?"

"Of course. What kind of idiot do you take me for?" His eyebrows furrowed, and he was a flustered mess. "It's just nice to have another's touch, you know what I mean?"

I completely knew what he meant. I was a lonely dirtbag myself.

"I understand, but don't you think this is a little soon?" I said, chuckling and trying to relieve the tension.

"Maybe so, but you're meant for me. Everyone else here has an other half except myself, and it makes me sad. I'm stuck here and so are you, so I figured we could make something out of our situation-"

"Alrighty, then. So I was destined to come here and fall in love with a dead guy, right?"

"Yeah. Sort of. I know what you're probably thinking of me already." His voice fell quiet, and he seemed almost defeated.

It took me a while to figure out what he was trying to say, but I didn't want to hurt the guy's feelings. After all, he could be dangerous. I wouldn't want to turn him down and lose a limb.

"No. I'm not rejecting you. I actually think you're quite handsome in your own way."

"You really think so? That means a lot. The experiences I've had in the past never truly went well."

"Well, maybe we can change that." I flashed him a grin as I took in as much of him as I possibly could. The now tousled dark hair, his coffee-brown eyes that seemed almost welcoming and piercing at different times, the freckles, his button nose, and those plump lips. Actually, he wasn't all that bad looking for a dead guy.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah... I don't know. This is bound to be updated soon, so stay tuned kiddos. For the full effect, please listen to Hotel California by The Eagles, if you want. Persuading you to listen to good music isn't necessarily a bad thing. 
> 
> If you enjoyed reading, then your feedback, suggestions and kudos are very appreciated! ≧◡≦
> 
> P.S. Let me know if I should post this to any collections/challenges to open it up to a broader audience. If you know of any, suggest them.


End file.
